Berán and Sinatra

Although the Golden Encyclopedia of Music focuses primarily on what is generically grouped as “classical”, whether composers, instruments, interpreters, performances, and more, it also includes singers and musicians who are considered influential and excellent interpreters of popular ballads. So although the encyclopedia, rightfully, includes longish articles on eminences like Johann Sebastian Bach, it also includes a brief entry for Francis (“Frank”) Albert Sinatra. Significantly, it has no entry for The Beatles or any of their members. One may disagree with the inclusions or exclusions; however, one ought to recognize that if the volume is going to include 20th Century popular music it surely must, and does, acknowledge Sinatra.

Although I knew about Mr. Sinatra since my childhood — he was ubiquitous for over half the century — I did not pay much attention to him until 1980. It was that year that he made news by actually commenting — at the end of a show — about the cultural and political state of our country. This was so unusual for him — not that he wasn’t known for having his political preferences; but he did not discuss such things as part of his on stage repertoire. Very different from just about every two-bit performing seal today!

Sinatra’s comments on that occasion urged his audience to seriously consider voting for Ronald Reagan in November of that year. Reading some of the newspaper accounts, you’d be forgiven if you got the impression he had called for the return of the ice age or a resurgence of the Black Death. As it turned out, most folk understood perfectly well what he meant and voted accordingly.

It was in that decade that I bought my first Sinatra albums and began to appreciate his craft — from a layman’s perspective. I learned that he’d swim under water every day, when a younger man, to strengthen and expand  his lung capacity. The experts may disagree with him as to the efficacy of that exercise; what impressed me was his absolute dedication to his vocation. How he made every song “his own” was also something that awed me.

My father still lived in the early 80s and in conversations he’d recall how influential Sinatra and his music were in the 40s and 50s, although the rumors of underworld connections bothered my father enough that he refused to buy any more of the crooner’s records and it was only towards the late 70s that he softened a bit, admitting that he was indeed a very good singer, and in some cases — From Here to Eternity, for example — a good actor as well.

It was in the early 80s that my beloved Aunt Sarah and Uncle Luis (“Wichy”) began tuning in to a Frank Sinatra radio station in Miami. They enjoyed reminiscing with the music, which was pretty clear and “listenable”. 

I personally do not like all his songs — some of which I find suggestive and unnecessary — but his oeuvre is most impressive and for the most part worth listening to every once in a while. By the late 90s my favorites came down to three albums:

Only the Lonely — According to the connoisseurs, Sinatra was best known as a wee-hours-of-the-morning, sad crooner. If so, this Capitol album from 1958 surely is the epitome. This is the sad and longing Sinatra singing for the waning generation of the late 50s.

September Of My Years — This Grammy award-winning (when the Grammy meant something) album of the year, asks and does not quite answer the question many middle-aged men ask themselves: who am I? This is the album that has one of the songs he is most identified with, “It Was A Very Good Year”. It also has one of my favorites: “The September Song”, which I first heard sung by Jimmy Durante in New York (on television).

Everything Happens To Me — Two years before his death in 1998, Sinatra worked with his daughter to compile his favorite songs released by his recording company, Reprise. Significantly, although he released songs and albums into the 90s, the selections in this album were all recorded between 1962 and 1981. This album is an echo to Only The Lonely with most of the songs in the same nostalgic category. “The Gal That Got Away” and “Summer Wind” give you an idea. This is not a “hits” album; it is simply what he preferred to sing.

In 1983 I took my fiancé to a Frank Sinatra benefit concert at the Fox Theater in Atlanta, Georgia. It’s not for nothing that he’s known as the best entertainer of the 20th Century. The next day, as we told my mother and dear friend, Mrs. Eleonora Berán, about it, she shared an anecdote involving her late husband.

In the early 60s (for the life of me, I cannot remember the exact year), Mr. Berán was flying from Caracas (Maiquetía) to Miami. At the ticket counter he was informed that the entire first class compartment was unavailable. Mr. Berán, who had a confirmed first class ticket refused to accept this and demanded to speak to management. He was then informed that Frank Sinatra was flying back to the USA and had purchased all seats in first class to fly alone. Mr. Berán was unmoved. The airline spoke with Mr. Sinatra who accepted Mr. Berán. The entire flight, Sinatra was in the first row, on the right window seat; Mr. Berán, in the last row on the left window seat. They were the only two passengers in that section. 

Mr. Berán said the service was very good! As in a very good year.

Frank Sinatra in Caracas in 1982

Lunch and good conversation with Mr. Berán in Venezuela in 1978

Life In An American Camp II — Gone Fishin’

A boyhood friend returned with his family to the United States several years before it was my turn to leave. Back in the USA, he was so homesick for El Pao that he “ran away from home” to find his way back to Venezuela.

“I’m going to El Pao! [pronounced ‘pow!’]” That’s the explanation he gave to the baffled policeman (“What’s ‘L Pow?'”) who picked him up and returned him to his parents.

What would make him miss the place so much for so long? What kept pulling him back?

Well, you might refer to an earlier post (Life In An American Camp) to begin getting an idea of the “why”.

Perhaps a reason might be the community life, which yielded solid friendships.

The reality was, for anyone looking from the outside in, El Pao’s was an active social life. There were many dinner engagements, which may have been “dull” to the men, who would (this would be heard off and on, usually in lighthearted bantering humor) rather be doing something else, like reading the newspaper or listening to Voice of America on shortwave radio.

Nevertheless, these formal and semi-formal activities served to polish and sharpen the adults’ interpersonal skills while developing the children’s. Years later, as a young man invited to cocktail gatherings or full course dinners, a boy from El Pao would generally know how to behave with decent etiquette in settings among folks who, in theory at least, had had far more opportunities to have developed social graces than families in a South American mine.

Perhaps an enclosed community creates its own pressures to conform to proper behavior and manners, especially if its inhabitants are mostly of the same or similar upbringing, culture, tradition, general religion, and understanding of what is the good, the permanent. Whereas those in large settings, with multiple options, lacking the self-discipline, or the encouragement, to seek to develop such skills, find it easier to take the path of least resistance, which is to avoid such opportunities.

The hosts and hostesses never expressed thinking about a “purpose” behind their hospitality; they simply brought  “continental” habits to a small colony in the forest and proceeded as if they were still in Chicago, New York, Bethlehem, Kalamazoo, or whatnot. In this, they were apt heirs of their mostly British ancestors who had their silverware brought to Kenya or Rhodesia and served tea at tea time, no matter where the location. Given the smallness of the place, these events, no matter how formal, had an intimacy which yielded a greater, longer lasting personal impact than they would have in larger, more impersonal settings.

Consequently, these activities also forged, over a few short years, strong familial chains between folks who, back in the States would most likely have remained strangers for the most part. But here, after visiting one another’s homes and sharing each other’s bread and wine, not to mention working hard jointly as teams, they formed kinships stronger than that of many families. These bonds persevered for decades beyond the end of their pilgrimage in the Venezuelan interior. In some cases, they’ve persevered for life.

Non-work-or-school-related activities in El Pao were many and varied: Bowling nights; volleyball nights; movie nights; Christmas season nights; “free nights” which invariably meant calls on friends’ homes — meaning, over time, everyone’s home. There were also special nights, when, for instance, a magician would be brought in by the company to entertain and educate both children and adults; or some would deliver lectures on eclectic subjects or events. There was a Spaniard who was an outstanding pianist who would regale those in the club, usually on a spontaneous basis.

All this occurred in an Amazonian jungle. 

Some wives complained about being so far from “civilization”. Some sons and daughters would echo those gripes. These were laments the boy never heard at home and never understood. How could anyone not feel lucky to be here? Well, as he once heard it said, there are people who, when viewing the Grand Canyon, will ignore the breathtaking vistas and focus their gaze on the back of a vulture which may be flying below. 

The good news is that most folks bloomed where they were planted.

As for the runaway friend in the States, while the boy joined in the hearty laughter when told the story, he also felt the same yearning in his heart that his buddy had felt in his.

Home in El Pao. Many of the early homes in the camp were principally prefabricated steel, which would tremble when dynamite went off in the nearby mines.
Recess in the camp school. The boyhood friend in the anecdote above is second from the left.
Pool at the club after work
Dinner with friends
After another dinner
And another
Postprandials in El Pao
Gone Fishin’ (1951) was a sunny little ditty performed by Bing Crosby and Louis Armstrong. I link it here as an example of the type popular music played in the club that I recall from my early childhood. The juke box contents changed in later years along with the composition of the camp.
Above link is to a movie trailer of the popular High Society (1956) (Bing Crosby and Louis Armstrong also starred) seen on a movie night in El Pao in the 1950’s, When The Going Was Good, as the late Professor Jeffrey Hart put it.